Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Amber
D inner isn’t what I expected.
After the chaos of the stadium, I thought we’d end up grabbing hot dogs from a cart or eating noodles on the sidewalk.
But somehow, here we are—sitting in a quiet little Italian restaurant tucked into a West Village side street with string lights above us and fresh herbs growing out of terra cotta pots along the windowsills.
It’s lovely. And romantic.
And way too nice for the Yankees hat I was wearing. I stashed the baseball Logan caught for me and my new cap in the Rolls Royce Logan hired for the day, complete with a driver who is probably playing Soduko on his phone right now.
I can’t believe we just found this place by wandering around, walking down random streets while holding hands. That’s the beauty of this city and something Logan never realized until I crashed into his life—there’s magic tucked away in every corner. You just have to get out and look for it.
This little restaurant was tucked into the corner of a quiet windy street, like it’s been here since the invention of marinara.
The walls are warm brick, worn with time, and lined with black-and-white photos of what I assume are generations of the same family—laughing around long tables, holding babies, and twirling pasta like it’s an Olympic sport.
The smell alone could heal childhood trauma: fresh basil, simmering tomatoes, and roasted garlic.
There’s a small trio of musicians playing in the back.
One has an accordion, the other a mandolin, and the last is an older man with a velvet voice singing soft, slow Italian ballads.
He looks like he should be someone's grandpa yelling at his grandkids in a vineyard, but his voice is beautiful and a little bit heartbreaking. It makes the whole place feel like it’s floating slightly above the ground.
It’s the kind of restaurant where the waiters kiss your cheeks and argue about who makes the better meatballs—Mama or Nonna.
It makes me think of family.
Not just mine now, but the kind I want someday. The loud, warm, overly involved kind that hugs too much and eats even more. I can’t wait to see my parents as grandparents, hugging my little toddlers and spoiling them at Christmas. And in my fantasy, this man is standing right there beside me.
I glance across the table at Logan.
“What’s your family like?”
He takes a slow sip of his red wine and thinks about it. That’s what I like most about him. He’s slow and deliberate. He chooses his words carefully and thinks before he speaks. He’s the opposite of me with my rambling mouth that won’t ever shut up.
“My mom lives in Florida,” he says. “With her boyfriend, Mitch. I don’t see her nearly enough.”
“How come?”
He shrugs those big sexy shoulders. He looks delectable in his black collared shirt with his perfectly tailored charcoal pants, sleeves rolled up those tantalizing forearms. I have the best view in the city.
“I’m not the biggest fan of Mitch and he’s not the biggest fan of me.”
“Oh,” I say, not wanting to push him further than he wants to go. I can tell this man isn’t the type to open up easily. But I am curious about his childhood. I’m curious about everything having to do with this man. “What was your mom like when you were growing up?”
The nice song finishes and everyone in the restaurant claps politely.
There’s silence until Grandpa begins another song and the quiet conversations continue.
“It was hard for her,” he says. I can see the heaviness filling his body.
No doubt, it was hard for him too. “My father left us with nothing. Just up and vanished. My mom tried, but… The world isn’t too kind to single mothers with no money and no education.
She got a job working in a manufacturing plant making car parts, but when she got laid off, it hit us hard.
We didn’t have family to help and we had no safety net.
One month we were living in a tiny apartment in Philly. The next, we were sleeping in her car.”
My chest tightens. “Logan…”
He shakes his head, not looking for pity.
“It lasted nine months,” he continues. “She’d park at the church or in department store lots. Kept wet wipes in the glove box. Tried to make it feel normal, like it was just temporary.” His voice drops. “But I knew we were there for the long haul.”
I can barely breathe. I had no idea. When I think of Logan Strickland, I think of wealth and luxury, not of a scared little boy living in the backseat of a car. I didn’t know this side of him existed, but I want to hear more. I want to know every side of him.
“I’ve never told anyone that.” When he looks up at me, something breaks open in my chest.
It’s not just that he’s been through hell. It’s that he trusts me enough to show it. To let me see the scared little boy behind the man. The wound behind the armor.
I reach across the table and place my hand over his. He doesn't move for a second, but then he turns his hand palm up and curls his fingers around mine.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“That’s why I take work so seriously,” he says. “Why I work so hard. I don’t want that to happen again and I definitely don’t want to do that to anyone else.”
“You’re a good man, Logan,” I say, just because I think he needs to hear it. I don’t think he hears it often enough.
I shiver when those dark brown eyes meet mine.
There’s something about the way he’s watching me—the hunger and possession in his eyes… It makes me think, maybe… Maybe this could work for real.
Maybe we do belong together. Maybe opposites don’t just attract, but they can meld into one.
“You’re full of surprises,” I say.
“I thought I was boring,” he says with a teasing grin.
“You are anything but boring, Mr. Strickland.” He was vulnerable with me and now it’s my turn to be vulnerable with him. “You just might be the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He smiles. It’s a dangerous smile. It’s a drop everything and move to New York kind of smile. He’s relaxed in a way he wasn’t yesterday. Still sharp, still commanding—but there’s something unguarded about him now. Like he’s letting me see the man underneath the title.
And I like what I see.
“Tell me something intimate,” he says as he rubs gentle circles on my wrist with his fingertip, giving me goosebumps. “Something no one else knows about you.”
I take a deep breath, wondering if I want to go there .
I realize I do. I want to go everywhere with him.
I lean in close and keep my voice low. “I’m a virgin.”
His jaw tightens and his dark eyes fill with a reverence that makes my toes curl as he watches me.
It just never felt right. I never felt like I could trust someone to be that intimate and vulnerable with.
I used to think there was something wrong with me for being so picky. For waiting. For wanting more.
But now I know—I was just waiting for him .
My type isn’t some party boy with abs or a grungy skater with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
My type is this .
A grumpy, obsessive, boss man with a work addiction and a heart that only opens for me.
I love that I can make him smile even when he doesn’t want to. And making him laugh? That feels like winning the lottery every single time. I wish I could bottle up that deep booming sound and play it whenever I need a boost of energy.
I feel like we were made for one another. Like we just fit .
“What do you think about that?” I ask him shyly, hoping he doesn’t laugh in my face.
He rubs his sexy stubble-covered jaw and leans in close. “I think you won’t be able to say that for a very long.”
My whole body tightens at his words.
I touch his leg with my foot and he lets out a low possessive growl. Heat swirls from my core and pulses between my thighs at his promise.
Our table suddenly feels electric. The air thickens with lust.
“Can I get you some dessert?” the waitress asks as she picks up our plates.
“No,” Logan says with his heated eyes locked on mine, his voice low and rough. “We’re going to have dessert at my place. Check, please.”
I swallow hard as she leaves me alone with this way-too-sexy alpha of a man.
A shiver rolls through my tingling body. I don’t know what that dessert he’s planning to eat at home is, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s me.
He pays quickly and then stands, offering his hand.
I could leave now. I could run and never look back.
But where’s the fun in that?
I take his big strong hand and stand up.
Outside, he pulls me tight against his side, his arm around my waist like he owns me already. Like he’s not letting me go. Like my chance to escape has come and gone. I’m his now.
We don’t speak. We don’t need to.
Our eyes say everything—hot, hungry, inevitable.
He opens the car door and I slide in with my heart pounding.
Because I know exactly where we’re going.
I know exactly what we’re about to do.
And I’ve never wanted anything more.